


Care

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4759334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford walks into a little something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Care

Fiddleford didn’t mean to spy. He was just entering the lab when he noticed the Pines brothers at Stanford’s desk. Stanford was working, head bent, a book on his desk and some calculations scrolling on the monitor to his right. Except… except Stanley had his left hand, juggling the limp hand between his own.

Fiddleford watched in fascination as Stanley began to press his thumbs against Ford’s open palm, stroking his brother’s hand, then bringing it closer to bestow a kiss right in the center. Then one by one he closed Ford’s fingers so it formed a fist. Stanford, as far as Fiddleford could see, didn’t seem the least bit distracted as his brother started pressing kisses to each of his knuckles, only turning the page in whatever book he was reading.

Soft looking lips kissed each knuckle, then the back of the hand. No response. Stanley opened Ford’s hand again and started wiggling the fingers, grasping fingertips between thumb and knuckle and watching as the appendages danced.

This went on for a while. Fiddleford stood at the entrance to the lab, trying to avert his eyes and do some actual work but only ending up staring. Stanley didn’t look up from his brother’s hand until their fingers intertwined, Ford having not looked up once from his research.

“Hey Fiddlesticks,” Stanley said, raising the hand not locked with his brother’s. Ford looked up from his work, two papers in hand and a pencil in his mouth. He spit it out, the pencil landing between the keyboard and the monitor, and replied, “Hello Fiddleford.” Neither of them made a move to let go.

“Hi fellas.” Fiddleford said, trying not to ogle the conjoined hands on the desk. It wasn’t any of his business.

“Well, I’ll let you two get on with your nerd stuff.” Stanley said standing to leave. Fiddleford’s gaze narrowed on their hands. The way that Stanley let go of Ford’s hand in the last second and how Ford let him, their fingertips brushing a few seconds too long until Stanley was taking the elevator up and Ford’s hand was lying limp against his side.

Then, without hesitation, Ford drew his arm up to pick the discarded pencil and write some equations on a paper, his eyes tracing the words on the book. As if callused fingers and thin lips hadn’t just worshiped the hand he wrote with.

“Uhhhhh….” Fiddleford said, his index finger scratching the top of his head. His eyes darted between his boss and the empty elevator shaft.

“He was clipping my nails. Said they were too long.”

“Excuse me?” Was that some kind of new euphemism?

“Nail clippers.” Stanford pointed with the tilt of his chin. And there, on the desk was some nail clippers. Fiddleford stepped up to take a closer look at his friend’s hands, and yup, instead of the long, dirt riddled nails Stanford had been sporting the past few days, they were now a neat, trim stump on both hands.

“Does he…clip your nails often?” Fiddleford asked, not quite sure what he was implying.

“Not really,” Stanford said, “but he does like to play with my hands a lot. More so when we were kids.”

“Oh?” Fiddleford said, staring at the spot where Stanley sat. A simple computer chair on wheels that Stanley would use to race up and down the lab floor with, always making himself dizzy and squeaking up the place. Always crashing into experiments.  He couldn’t imagine Stanley sitting still, caring for Ford’s hands but then again Stanley was always observant when it came to his twin’s health.

“Yeah, when we were kids he’d just play with them. He’d pay special attention if I had a bad day, I’m sure he thought it was reassuring - and it was - but it got a little annoying when we got older and I was trying to work. He hasn’t played with my hands in a long time but I’m guessing clipping my nails brought back old memories.” Stanford shrugged, turning around to face Fiddleford.

“It isn’t a problem is it?” Fiddleford couldn’t see anything defensive or aggressive about Stanford’s face or stance. Just plain inquisition. The way Stanford would approach a simple science problem.

Fiddleford put his hands up anyway to show no harm and shook his head, “No problems here.” 

“Good.” Stanford graced him with a brief smile before he turned to face his calculations once more.


End file.
